To Master an Art
by UltimateParadox
Summary: AU, Oneshot. And the arrow struck its target true, breaking into the fragile being's ribcage, and, essentially, its heart.


**To Master an Art**

Suzaku hunted in that overgrown forest that was leeching into his family's shrine's grounds constantly, honing his skills to perfection. He could track, he could trap, he could gut.

Yet, standing in a sunny clearing, not unlike the eye of a storm, he could barely notch on arrow on the heavy bow clutched in his hand.

The practice of archery was new to him. It was so frustrating he considered dropping the bow to the ground, to the mercy of the expansive wildlife, in a juvenile display called a tantrum, marching up to his father and demanding he stop forcing such nonsense onto his son. He almost did, several times as a matter of fact, but the thought of enraging Genbu Kururugi, the greatest hunter of the Eleventh Kingdom, was a thought that soured the stomach of the ten-year-old.

"You're old enough to use this responsibly," his father had said, his rough fingers unraveling from around the aged wood of the heirloom, a bow named Lancelot, its name bestowed upon it by a man from the Holy Kingdom itself. The bowstring looked as frail as a spider's thread, but it was taut and powerful. Inexperienced as he was, Suzaku could still admire the quality of the weapon and he was awed by it. "I grow old, but I'm not ready to succumb to any angel of death. Prove to me you are worthy of your surname before I must retire."

Suzaku believed the weeks following that meeting with his father to be long and hectic. The bowstring continually decorated his fingertips with thin, red cuts that stung for days after their painless arrivals. The constant practice could not have helped. Also, the arrows never flew straight, straying far off course and chipping off whatever unfortunate tree or boulder it clashed against. Despite his frequent bumbling and his many attempts, he failed to grasp the familial flare for the bow and arrow.

Suzaku aimed his next shot at a large oak, a chalky, white target childishly scrawled on its bark. His fingers unclasped themselves and the arrow was unleashed, arcing in the air and-

A gust of wind pushed defiantly at the projectile, throwing the arrow too far left. It landed in a bush surrounded by tall grass that Suzaku knew was full to capacity with prickly burrs.

"Shoot," Suzaku groaned. He reached over his shoulder to grab a new arrow from the antique deerskin quiver he had also inherited, but all he received was a handful of air. "Huh?"

Shrugging the container off, he wanted to cry. The quiver was empty. This had happened how many times now, returning without an arrow to his name and nothing to show for it? The others at the shrine were becoming irritated with his lack of progress and Suzaku knew it.

His father's sudden bout of illness was also a source of concern and pressure he was becoming well-acquainted with.

He could not let them down again. He could not go back to that place empty-handed.

He had to master the bow and arrow. He would not fail.

Suzaku gathered up the used arrows and stuffed any undamaged ones into the quiver. Then, he thrust his hand into the tall grass, wincing as he felt blindly for the smooth shaft of his arrow whenever a burr found its way into his tender skin.

"You'll hurt your hand," commented a stern voice.

Suzaku jumped, the unfamiliar voice startling him out of his skin. However, what truly sent a bolt of primal fear into his gut was that he had been _so_ certain he had been completely alone.

Spinning around, removing his hand in the process, Suzaku glared a challenge all around him at the ring of trees. No person stood anywhere visible, no shadow had slid out of place. Perhaps this prodigious intruder was taking refuge behind a thick trunk, waiting to strike?

Suzaku shifted, watched, listened. He'd been praised repeatedly on his ability to track a mark, his senses trained and keen. Even so, his frustration sky-rocketed as he could only make out the form of an overly curious black bird, a raven, though the sight was strange in itself, perched on a branch, beady eyes watching the hunter-to-be. For some reason, Suzaku thought it looked smug.

Hours later, Suzaku trudged back through the grandiose entry of the Kururugi Shrine main house, empty-handed and utterly bewildered by the phantom voice and the stupid bird that had effortlessly trumped his every try at shooting it down.

* * *

The next morning, Suzaku found on his window sill the forgotten arrow and a smooth, black feather.

* * *

Years passed, and Suzaku still hunted in the thick, overbearing forest that had leeched further into the shrine grounds. Lancelot was gripped confidently in a glove-clad hand, his other clutching the arrow balanced on the bowstring, green eyes focused on a neat, painted red target on the tree he had once scribbled on as a child. He let go.

With a satisfying _shunk_, the tree was pierced.

Seventeen and the head of the Kururugi family, Suzaku had improved his archery skills, no longer viewing it as an obnoxious chore, but as a fine art.

His lips pitched down into a frown. He approached the target and his eyes narrowed. "Off center," he hissed with a bitter tinge.

"Still can't hit that tree dead center, huh, Kururugi Suzaku?"

The voice that had haunted him seven years ago not longer scared Suzaku, rather, he expected the color commentary. Without the obscurity, he found himself strangely on edge.

Every time Suzaku wandered into his self-appointed training ground after that day, the disembodied voice had always had something to say to him. In the earlier years, it had shared archery tactics—Suzaku had once called the voice "Sensei", but had thus been snapped at, so he stopped referring to it as such. As he began to grow and develop into the strapping young man and ace hunter he was today, the voice had become sardonic, sometimes out right making fun of him.

The voice had become a companion of his, a friend. Suzaku liked to compare this relationship to that of a pair of pen pals—they had no need to know the appearance of the recipient, only the words.

However, pen pals had names they used to recognize each other. Suzaku had been raised to be courteous, so he had no qualms introducing himself. The voice did not seem to be as forthcoming, leaving the matter alone entirely.

Suzaku sighed as he ripped the arrow out of the splintered trunk, examining the head. Deeming it useful, he slid it into the quiver and sat heavily at the base of the tree. A raven leaped from a nearby tree and glided to the ground by Suzaku's foot, dark talons leaving tiny indents in the trampled dirt.

The raven was Suzaku's hint that his friend was anywhere near. It showed its little head at every practice session. It had become something of a good omen for Suzaku, in spite of lore and the animal's negative connotations. He sometimes considering idolizing the creature as a mascot.

At Suzaku's dejected posture, the voice laughed. "Oh, get up, you baby. You'll hit it someday."

"I just don't understand why it won't ever hit where I want it to," Suzaku mumbled, tapping Lancelot on the ground. The raven was not phased.

The voice went quiet for several contemplative beats. Then, "You lack the motivation to hit it dead center, and Lancelot knows it. You're shooting with half a heart out of obligation, not because you want to."

"And where do you come off saying that?" Suzaku asked, a tinge of anger coloring his tone.

The raven spread its wings and flew away. Suzaku considered the conversation over.

* * *

Another year passed. Suzaku laughed merrily, hand clasped in the slender, pale hand of a young woman with soft features. She laughed as well when they tumbled into the clearing. A raven watched them from a far branch—Suzaku saw it in his peripheral vision.

"Ah, Euphie," he started, motioning to the black bird. "That's the raven that's always here."

"Your friend's?" The girl smiled and offered her arm as a perch to the bird. It eyed her warily.

While Euphemia was distracted with his mascot, Suzaku moved to sit at his favorite target. "Sorry," he murmured softly, hoping only his unseen friend could hear. "I know I haven't been around lately. The Ashford family has been hiring me and I've had work at the shrine."

No response. Euphemia cooed in the background.

"I know it's a bad excuse. I'm sorry. You must've been lonely."

"I know you haven't been," hinted a familiar voice. Reminiscent to his boyhood memories, Suzaku was startled by the sudden declaration. His heart thudded in his chest.

"Oh, this is Euphemia," Suzaku explained. He watched the girl begin to grow impatient as her efforts to gain the raven's approval failed one after another. He smiled fondly. "I met her at the Ashford House. I...I really like her. I could spend the rest of my life with her."

"You love her, then?"

"Um...maybe."

"Kururugi Suzaku." The voice, although quiet to keep their conversation private, had never sounded so grave. "Do you desire to be a great hunter? To follow in the late Genbu's footsteps?"

"Well, sure. But what does that have to do with Euph-"

"Are you absolutely certain you want to hunt?"

Suzaku paused to think. "Yes."

Another pause. "Suzaku. Meet me here tonight, a quarter to midnight. I'd like to show you something."

* * *

Suzaku stepped carefully into the clearing, Lancelot at the ready, belt knife secured at his hip. The forest had the potential to be dangerous during the darkest hours, frightening and infested with beasts. The full moon's light poured into the clearing, undistorted by a leafy overhang. In the center of the clearing was the raven, looking very much like the star actor (of the avian kind) on stage. It stared at him. Suzaku stared back. Whatever had claimed residency in his stomach grew large, intense. He felt sick.

"Suzaku," the voice acknowledged. The raven hopped on its spindly legs to the edge of the clearing opposite Suzaku's entrance, behind a tree. The hunter almost followed, but an electrifying chill shot rapidly down his spine, a mysterious _something_ in the atmosphere that stopped him in his tracks, inflamed in nerves.

There was something behind the tree. His instincts picked up on it instantly—the presence was distinctly human. "Who's there? How did you get here?"

A laugh. "You really are sharp, huh? To notice me so quickly...," A shadowed figure emerged into the clearing, gradually letting the moonlight illuminate his visage.

Black hair, shining to reflect the light, eyes of the deepest amethyst, a sight so different, so peculiar, Suzaku was left thoughtless. This slim figure, nude as a newborn babe, captured his attention so quickly that he was stunned. Black feathers fell from its hair and shoulders to puddle at its feet. Clearly, this gorgeous person was male, but he looked so small that Suzaku could crush him in moments. He was used to seeing men with the builds of warriors, broad shouldered and tanned complexioned, not a male so ethereal and ghostly pale.

"Who are you...?" Suzaku repeated in a whisper. His grip on Lancelot wavered before his muscles gave up and the bow clunked to the soil.

The person smiled sadly, pained. "That bow is important to you. Shouldn't you take better care of it, Kururugi Suzaku?"

Suzaku's eyes widened. The only person to speak his full name as such, the only person who could say it like _that_, had been the bodiless voice that had both cheered and jeered at his archery for eight long, trying years.

"You're...,"

"To quoth the raven," the other interrupted. "Nevermore. My name is Lelouch. You will be the first and the last person I will ever tell. Consider it our secret."

"Lelouch," Suzaku said experimentally, almost rasping the sound through his sudden astonished breathlessness. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. With a stronger voice, he repeated the name. "Lelouch."

"Tomorrow, I will make you the greatest hunter who has ever walked the earth, greater than your father. You will want...you will want to bring Euphemia with you." Lelouch had choked on his sentence, and for the love of whatever deity was listening, Suzaku could not understand why.

"Really?" Suzaku's voice was warm with excitement and apprehension, eagerness and a bit of fear. "But why wait so long?"

Lelouch looked down to the feathers at his feet, a fringe of black bangs shielding his face from view.

Suzaku's elation began to ebb. "Lelouch?"

"Kururugi Suzaku, my best and only friend. I will never again be able to tell you this. So listen up."

There was something in Lelouch's tremulous voice that demanded his undivided attention. The thing in Suzaku's stomach clawed at his stomach's lining.

Lelouch stalked forward, bare feet padding noiselessly on the forest floor. He was just about to be upon Suzaku when he stopped and lifted his head. Their eyes met, and Suzaku could see the determination, the fear, and his own reflection in the eyes boring into his.

"I love you."

Cold, pale lips pressed against his, Suzaku's mind functioning on auto-pilot as he found himself returning the gesture. Lelouch tasted of desperation, uncertainty, and a shaking kind of loneliness.

The kiss was over as quickly as it began. Lelouch pulled away abruptly. The wind howled ferociously through the trees, causing Suzaku to squeeze his eyes shut in an action brought about entirely by pure instinct.

When the wind died down, Lelouch had disappeared. The only indications of his previous presence where the black feathers that had miraculously survived the wind's onslaught and the warm, tingling sensation in his lips.

* * *

"Lelouch!" Suzaku cried. He and Euphemia trekked through the forest, ducking under low branches and stepping over gnarled roots. The beaten path to the clearing was just ahead and Suzaku's insides were twisting with anticipation.

"Suzaku, wait," Euphemia insisted. "I don't understand what's happening here. Who is Lelouch?"

Suzaku glanced at her concerned face and smiled softly, hopefully reassuringly. It was difficult to gauge when inside he was numb with sleep deprivation (why he had even tried to sleep after Lelouch's confession and unveiling was a mystery to him). "Lelouch is my friend. I'll explain when we get there, okay?"

His dubious expression and assurance seemed to work because Euphemia offered him a tiny smile in return. "Okay."

Several minutes later, the young couple had arrived at the clearing. It was empty. Suzaku's heart sank. "Lelouch?"

"I'm here," came the reply. Lelouch was an expert at surprising Suzaku.

Stepping out from behind the tree as he had the night before, Lelouch walked into the clearing. Suzaku was grateful he was wearing clothes, an over-sized white button up and too baggy trousers.

There was a pregnant pause, a moment of great tension between the three. It was awkward, it was unnerving, it was heart wrenching, in the respectful perspectives of the trio.

"Suzaku," Lelouch finally said. His voice was cautious, unsure. Suzaku was unaccustomed to the sound. He was familiar with Lelouch's cockiness. "May I please see Lancelot? And an arrow, too, if you don't mind."

Suzaku, never one to enter the forest unarmed, looked down at the bow in question. It was a heavy weapon, could Lelouch even lift it? He wasn't sure, but he passed over the bow, then an arrow.

It seemed Lelouch did have enough muscle to wield Lancelot, but he took a long moment to scrutinize the arrow. "Is this a joke, Suzaku?"

Attached to the shaft with a worn strand of red threat was a black feather.

"Oh! That's the arrow you got for me when I lost it in the bush. It was the day we first met."

Lelouch nodded distractedly. He walked back a few paces, turned so that his back faced the target and he faced them, notched the arrow, took aim, and fired.

The arrow plunged into Euphemia's chest.

_"You lack the motivation to hit it dead center, and Lancelot knows it. You're shooting with half a heart out of obligation, not because you want to."_

_ "Tomorrow, I will make you the greatest hunter who has ever walked the earth, greater than your father."_

Understanding blindsided him, and it _hurt like hell_.

Seeing red and terribly heart sick, Suzaku did not hesitate to rush Lelouch. The dark-haired young man did not resist Suzaku's charge, willfully relinquishing his hold on Lancelot.

Once at an ample distance away, Suzaku took all his heartache, all his fury, all his sadness, all his everything, and focused it into his newly drawn arrow. He aimed and wondered if Lelouch chose to stand at the target for a better vantage point or for the irony.

Lelouch smiled that sad smile again. The wind blew, Suzaku blinked. The raven waited in Lelouch's place.

With only a minor adjustment to his aim, Suzaku released the arrow. For once, he knew he would not be off center.

And the arrow struck its target true, breaking into the fragile being's ribcage, and, essentially, its heart.

**End.

* * *

**

**I'm a jerk. Tell me your thoughts?**


End file.
